


not my style

by sapphire_child



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Community: then_theres_us, F/M, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, POV Outsider, Pete's World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-04
Updated: 2010-09-04
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12615384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: It doesn’t take her long to realise that this heiress and her mystery man are not this establishment’s usual clientele. For starters, they have no compunctions whatsoever about ignoring the cutlery and they share a wide assortment of their food using only their fingers. They know even less about wine than she does and end up ordering Red Creaming Soda instead. And to top it all off, there’s their choices in meals...





	not my style

_We tried to make it work, you in a cocktail skirt  
And me in a suit, and it just wasn’t me_

She works in one of those posh, ridiculously over the top restaurants. You know, the kind that’s done up all chandeliers and fake paneling in the walls? Abby thinks it looks like somewhere you’d hold a wedding, not feed the general populace.

Not that their clientele could be classified as the ‘general populace’. This is where the rich bigwigs come to rub shoulders and be coldly genteel with each other. If it weren’t for the pay, she wouldn’t be here at all. Not really her scene. Not really sure how she got the job at all to be completely honest with you. Her whole family common as muck and now Abby, the university drop out who couldn’t hack higher education.

But then comes the day when some heiress books a table for two and the manager goes into such a flap about it that in the hours preceding the arrival of their two Very Important People she becomes prone to start screaming hysterically at staff for no apparent reason. Abby takes to ducking for cover whenever she hears the telltale sound of stiletto heels striking the hardwood floor – a dangerous instinct that compounds in her winding up waiting on the heiress’ table, more by accident than anything.

Turns out, her hiding place isn’t as good as she’d thought and she is found out by a customer – a tall man in a suit with a bemused expression and a stunning blonde creature by his side.

“Hallo,” the man says brightly, peeking at her around the edge of the faux-screen. “What are you doing back there?”

“Nothing sir.” Abby says apologetically, creeping out from her hiding place and guiltily straightening her uniform. “Sorry sir. Just trying not to get an earful. Manager’s on the warpath tonight.”

“Manager’s on the warpath you say?” the man repeats, with what looks like genuine interest. “What for?”

“Got some VIP’s coming in,” she explains, wondering vaguely if he’s taking the mickey. “Some heiress or something.”

The woman’s eyes glow with mirth at that. “Some heiress huh?” she echoes and the man titters quietly until she nudges him in the ribs. “Really?”

Abby, confused, is about to ask them if they’ve got a reservation when the manager arrives, falling all over herself and breathless as she greets the guests.

“Miss Tyler! Doctor Smith!” she gushes. “Welcome to our establishment! Won’t you allow us to take your coats?”

She glares pointedly at Abby who, taking the hint, reaches for them. Their guests however, don’t seem to want to comply.

“Might keep mine on for now actually,” the woman says mildly. The man completely ignores the offer altogether.

“Is she one of your waitresses?” he queries instead, indicating Abby with a nod.

The manager looks suitably horrified, practically looks like she’s about to start grovelling on the floor and kissing the couples shoes and its only when she sees the desperation on her boss’s face that the penny finally drops for Abby.

Oh. _Oh._ Shit, shit, _shit_ these are the fucking VIP’s!

“Abigail is...one of our waitresses, yes.” The manager says faintly but the man doesn’t demand that she be fired for impropriety. Instead he decides, with an absurd amount of pleasure, that they want her to wait on them, please and thank you.

The manager merely gapes until Abby breaks into her best fake smile and the time honoured utterance of, “Certainly. Can I show you to your table?” known to all serving staff.

~*~

  
It doesn’t take her long to realise that this heiress and her mystery man are not this establishment’s usual clientele. For starters, they have no compunctions whatsoever about ignoring the cutlery and they share a wide assortment of their food using only their fingers. They know even less about wine than she does and end up ordering Red Creaming Soda instead. And to top it all off, there’s their choices in meals.

Miss Tyler (insistent on being called ‘Rose’) goes for the plainest thing on the menu – a spaghetti bolognaise – whilst her counterpart orders a further selection of entrees and two mains because he just can’t decide what he wants.

“You lot do doggy bags don’t you?” he says breezily. They don’t, but Abby isn’t about to tell him that.

“We’ll be eating leftovers for a week,” Rose says, rolling her eyes at him in a good natured sort of way. She pauses to gnaw on a cuticle whilst Abby finishes writing up their order and then hastily recalls her when she goes to escape. “Hey, um...Abigail right?”

“Abby,” she corrects before remembering herself and flushing. Rose at least, doesn’t seem to mind her rudeness.

“Abby. Don’t s’pose you’ve got a nail clipper in your bag or know somebody in the staff’s got one?”

The request is so absurd that Abby considers going and ringing up a manicurist just in case, but when she brings the small contraption out with their food Rose is delighted.

“Thanks mate,” she says, returning it perfunctorily. “You’re a lifesaver.”

They don’t take dessert there, although the man is obviously angling towards it. He has the manner, Abby observes with amusement, of an overgrown child. His excitement and curiosity reminds her of her little brother, Sam.

They thank her when she processes the bill and when the man grins and presses something into her hand she is obliged to take it. It turns out to be a napkin, folded into a flower of some kind. Maybe an iris. It’s pretty ornate in any case and she’s both impressed and touched.

“Thank you!” she says, a bit breathless.

“Thank _you_ ,” he says with an easy grin and Abby distinctly hears him commenting to Rose as they leave that if more waiters in these big posh restaurants were like her then he’d be a lot happier about going to them more often.

Abby finishes her shift feeling like she’s walking on air.

~*~

  
It’s late when she finally knocks off and heads down to the all night café nestled in a little side street four blocks down. The manager makes them pay for any leftovers they want to take home and she doesn’t like most of the food from the restaurant anyway. Chips, a big ol’ chunk of lasagne and a Coke is more her style and as she tucks in she eyes off a particularly luscious slice of Brownie in the display case too. It’s chock-a-block with nuts and slathered thick with icing.

Not that she needs any more chocolate in her diet, but it’s the first time since she started that bloody job that she’s left the place feeling _happy_. Amazing what a couple of nice customers can do for a girl’s mood, she thinks and decides hell, why not treat herself for a job well done?

The bell over the door rings just as she’s pointing to her brownie but she’s too engrossed in drooling as she watches it get warmed up and placed on a plate with her pot of tea to look around and stickybeak at her fellow patrons. Brownie warmed up she counts out her remaining change and discovers, to her dismay, that she’s short.

She’s just mumbling that she can’t afford it, can he put the Brownie back please, when a voice comes from behind her, so sudden and familiar that she jumps.

“Hey!” Abby spins around and there’s Rose and her beau, hand in hand. A pair of heels dangle precariously from Rose’s spare hand and he is clinging onto his plastic bag full of leftovers. “You were our waitress! Abby right?”

Abby shifts uncomfortably, eyes plunging downwards, but nods. Rose however, smiles, juggles her shoes and pulls a tenner out of nowhere.

“Here.” She says, laying it on the counter. “It’s on us.”

“You don’t have to...” Abby protests, embarrassed.

“Think of it as reparations for a job well done.” he cuts off her protestations and winks. Normally Abby would refuse, but there’s nothing aloof about these two and their offer of money honestly doesn’t feel like charity.

“Thank you.” She says, earnestly, for the second time that evening and the pair beam at her and insist that it’s no trouble whatsoever.

She continues watching them as they order a pot of tea for two, a scone for each of them and then a grab bag full of assorted goodies to take home as well. They sprawl out in a booth with their treasures, her shoes sitting pretty up on the table and his jacket thrown casually over the back of the chair.

Rose’s carefully arranged hairdo has fallen into disarray and his shirt is half off. Abby watches as they absently fix each other up between bites, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to have a cup of tea in one hand and be pulling pins out of someone’s hair at the same time. His already undone tie disappears beneath her hands, as does the dress shirt, until he's down to a t-shirt. It seems to suit him better than the full jacket-shirt-tie combo he'd been sporting earlier, Abby notes.

For their next trick, he gets cream on his nose and tries to lick it off. Rose laughs and swipes it off using a finger instead, gets him to lick it clean and then kisses him lightly on the lips. When the display is over, she sits back so they can grin at each other before returning to their respective cuppas.

They leave hand in hand, thanking the café owner and giving her a little wave and a smile. Abby feels like the luckiest person in the world.

“That was never Rose Tyler!” the café owner gushes to Abby the second they’ve exited. “And that Doctor Smith fella! Blimey, what were they doing in ‘ere you reckon Abs? All dressed up to the nines they were too!”

“Reckon they were looking for somewhere they’d be more comfy.” Abby says, draining the cold dregs of her tea to hide her smile. Her chair wobbles slightly as she stands up and the wallpaper peels off the walls and she feels more at home here than she’s ever felt at work. “That’s why I come here anyways.”

The café owner looks pleased at this assessment and when Abby leaves and sees the notice in the window advertising for a new waitress she doesn’t even hesitate.

The pay might not be as good, but the clientele is certainly better.

Especially when Rose and her Doctor become regulars.


End file.
